Catfished at the Vitamin Shop

The chlorine burned my nose as I backstroked away from Coach Miller's screaming. "You call that swimming? That's drowning with style!"

I was sixteen and somehow the only person in sophomore PE who couldn't actually swim. The humiliation hit different when Maya Chen watched from the bleachers, her perfectly executed dive still making ripples in the water.

"You good?" she asked afterward, flicking her wet hair like a shampoo commercial.

"Totally," I lied. "Just feeling it. You know?"

I didn't know. I wasn't feeling anything except the urge to disappear. Later that night, I did what any self-respecting socially awkward teen would do — I cyberstalked Maya's Instagram until 3 AM like a total creep. A spy in the war of normal people vs. me.

Monday, my neighbor Mrs. Rodriguez caught me sneaking home from swim practice. Her orange tabby, Nacho, wound around my legs like he owned me.

"Could you cat-sit Saturday?" she asked. "Family emergency."

"Sure." Because I had zero boundaries.

Saturday, I had to cancel plans with the boys to watch Nacho. He immediately knocked over a water bowl, then hid under the sofa like I was the problem.

My mom called. "Did you take your vitamin D? Dr. Patel said you're deficient."

"Yes, Mom." I hadn't.

I walked to CVS looking like a goblin in pajama pants. And there was Maya, working behind the vitamin counter.

My brain short-circuited.

"Hey," she said. "Swimming suit guy."

"That's my name." I wanted to die. "Need vitamin D. Doctor said."

Maya smiled. Actually smiled. "I'm taking lessons too. At the Y. Tuesdays."

"Wait, you can't swim?"

"Are you kidding? I fake it till I make it. But you're terrible." She laughed. "It's kinda brave though."

"Thanks?"

"Join me Tuesday. We can drown together."

I bought the vitamins. I Nacho-sat. I showed up Tuesday.

Maya was right — we were both terrible. But getting laughed at together hit different than getting laughed at alone.

"We're gonna be Olympians," she declared, doing an accidental backflip.

"Definitely."

Sometimes the most embarrassing parts of you become the things that connect you to people. And sometimes Nacho the cat is just your wingman, I guess.